Welcome to our Sunday morning service at Clevedon at 10 am. Join us in person or watch the live stream on our YouTube channel.  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxBzxjBb3xU8ra2NHwvD_9A(the service can also be viewed at any time afterwards.)

You can find the Reading and Reflection for this service below:

21 After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. 2 Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin,[a] Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. 3 Simon Peter said to them, ‘I am going fishing.’ They said to him, ‘We will go with you.’ They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

4 Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. 5 Jesus said to them, ‘Children, you have no fish, have you?’ They answered him, ‘No.’ 6 He said to them, ‘Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.’ So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. 7 That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, ‘It is the Lord!’ When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the lake. 8 But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards[b] off.

9 When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. 10 Jesus said to them, ‘Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.’ 11 So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred and fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. 12 Jesus said to them, ‘Come and have breakfast.’ Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ because they knew it was the Lord. 13 Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. 14 This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.

Over the years I have talked quite a lot in my sermons about Great Barrier, about cones and road works, and portable traffic lights and breathalyser tests.

And one of the other things I have talked about is boats and fishing:

 3 Simon Peter said to them, ‘I am going fishing.’ They said to him, ‘We will go with you.’ They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

That rings true for me.

Most of my boat stories are boat failure stories.  I can measure my time here by the three boats, if you can call them that, that I have owned over this time.

 A tinny called Laura Palmer, then a fishing Kayak also called Laura Palmer and now my latest boat, a small inflatable called Laura Palmer.

The tinny filling with water as someone (!) forgot to put the bungs in. The Kayak returning and tipping into the surf. And yes, the little inflatable suffering the same fate. 

My daughter here today can attest to at least 2 out of 3 of these events. (Please over lunch, encourage her to reconsider going out with me again – its very lonely out there – there’s just Great Barrier, you and Chile in the distance.)

And one of the wonderful things about sharing my boating stories is that afterwards almost always one of you comes and tells me your boating failure story as well.

We are all sinners after all. And some of us hopefully learn from what we have done wrong.

These disciples are out in the boat. They have all let Jesus down in one way or another. Betrayal, cowardice, denial. 

But he still calls to us from the shore.

So there are things I really like about this story.

In the end, it involves a successful fishing trip.

“5 Jesus said to them, ‘Children, you have no fish, have you?’ They answered him, ‘No.’ 6 He said to them, ‘Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.’ So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish.”

The story includes breakfast, but not just any breakfast—a charcoal barbecue. 

And it includes this intriguing little verse:

12 Jesus said to them, ‘Come and have breakfast.’ Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ because they knew it was the Lord. 13 Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish.

How did they not know who it was?

Sometimes, we are just not sure. Sometimes, it is not obvious when Jesus is in our midst.

Then there is breakfast, and it seems that sharing food is part of recognising Jesus. Think of our communion today. Think of those moments when we’ve sat down to eat with someone and deepened our knowledge of them.

Jesus appears to the disciples after Easter, and in a few weeks, I am going to disappear from your midst.

There is death and life in these things: an end for which I grieve, and a future for which you have every reason to be excited.

In a room at the back of a church I once served, there was a series of photos of the congregation’s ministers, dating back over 100 years.

Underneath each photo was the minister’s name and dates. It went: 1915–1918, 1919–1922, and so on, until my photo appeared with a starting date, a dash, and a gap for the ending date.

That little gap reminded me that one day, the committee would fill it in when my dash had ended.

In 14 years, when this parish celebrates its 175th year, someone might write its history. My name will likely appear among the others who have served here, with a starting date, an ending date, and a dash in between.

But it’s not the dates that matter—it’s the dash.

We follow a man named Jesus, who died around the age of 33. We might say now, a brief dash. And yet, here we are. Dashing.

We have no control over when our dash starts and very limited control over when it ends, but we have far greater control over what the dash looks like.

After conducting hundreds of funerals over the last 40 years, I am convinced there is no obvious relationship between the length of life and the quality of life. The dates and the dash in between.

I want to go back to the photos on the wall again.

There was something irritating about those 13 photos. Twelve were headshots of previous ministers, but mine—taken shortly after I arrived—was a full-length photo of me sitting in a chair.

When it was framed and placed alongside the others, it stood out. It was different. Disorderly.

Twelve headshots and then me: a full-body photo. Every time I looked at it, I noticed the mismatch.

And then, something strange happened. Just after I announced I was leaving, my photo disappeared from the wall.

At first, I thought it was a bad omen—a sort of "writing on the wall" moment.

But later, the photo reappeared, altered. My body had been cropped away, and my face enlarged to match the style of the previous twelve.

Now, there were thirteen headshots, all uniform, all in order, and all with their dashes complete.

We crave order in life, don’t we? But what happens when that order feels overwhelming, almost suffocating, as if life follows only one unchangeable pattern?

 Jesus says “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in the world will keep it for eternal life.”

“Whoever serves me must take up their cross and follow me.”

And then we witness the death and we proclaim sometimes in a shaky kind of way, that there is Jesus on the shore, this resurrection.

The words of Jesus have gone from a disturbing theory to a life-changing, world-changing practice.  Confronts our patterns. Our expectations.

It’s one of those tricky Gospel paradoxes but I think I have a sense of what's been said here.  I think he’s talking here about life that is based and is lived with some fundamentally different understanding. 

When I left theological training, everything I owned fitted into the back of my grey 1967 1300cc Volkswagen—the one with the 6-volt system. The lights were so dim that I once had a friend hold a torch out the window as we drove through the countryside.

Leaving Dunedin, those years ago I felt free, hopeful, and unburdened.

Now, we need a moving truck to shift everything. While my wonderful wife and reasonably adorable children bring joy, I’m not sure all the accumulated possessions have made me a better minister—or deepened my faith.

In some ways, the more I have, the more I have to worry about.  

It’s not the dates, but the dash that matters to God.

Even at 166 years old, this church is young in the history of our faith.

Let us celebrate and embrace this miracle—the fish, the abundance, the bread, the companionship, and the discovery of the risen Jesus in our midst.

I’ve witnessed this faith among you: Generous. trusting God, living faithfully, and teaching one another what it means to be good sinners. What it means to be fallible people but still love God, others, and ourselves— knowing forgiveness and grace and welcoming whoever comes through these doors.

This makes a difference.

So now and in the future, let us celebrate our dash and the great dash—our life and eternal life—coming together, touching, and entwined as we proclaim God’s love for us and the world.